Oh Deer

Its that time of year again. Deer hunting season is upon us. People who don't live in Wisconsin (or the Midwest really), probably don't understand the magnitude of gun season. Particularly up north. I'm trying to be more positive about hunting this year. I still dread seeing the bodies in trucks and strung in the trees outside deer camps. I'm hoping the doe and her two babies who visited our yard all summer survive the bullets. I don't like the macho idiots gun season attracts. I'm annoyed about being unable to safely walk in the woods (no matter what any hunter says, it isn't really safe. Particularly with a small child.) And I'm very glad Dave isn't MIA for a whole week hunting.

However, I remind myself that deer hunting at its best, simplest and most traditional is practiced by thoughtful folks who eat the venison, tread lightly on the land, and kill with humanity and respect for the creatures whose lives they're taking.

As the island prepares for a flood of blaze orange and people from Illinois, Max and I took advantage of the (relatively) balmy temperatures (40+) and clear November sunshine; playing ball on the deck and then a visit to Daddy's job site to watch the machines. In a nod to the season, Max wore his camouflage onesie.


"WHAT'S happening to Bambi??!!!" (Sorry, couldn't resist a Bambi dig)